“You had a beef with him in the St. A. bar. This would be more of the same. No questions asked.” Shayne sipped the loaded coffee. They let him think about it.
“The trouble is, I’ve known him so many years. We’ve been close—”
“I’m figuring that in the price.”
“It’s worth more than thirteen.”
“We don’t think so,” De Blasio said. “We had expenses. And pulling a piece in our casino. We can’t forget that.”
Shayne filled his empty flask from the cognac bottle while he was considering. Then he swore explosively and stood up.
“I won’t guarantee anything, but I’ll go in and look it over. I’ll need my car.”
“We had it brought in from the airport already.”
“How about the girl?”
“I assure you she won’t lack for a thing. We’ve got a nice apartment over the garage, fixed up nice, and she’ll be there by herself. I’ll send Nicola down to see if she needs anything.”
“All right,” Shayne said bleakly. “Now, tell me one thing. That creep in the elevator last night. Nash, from Chicago. Did you plant him on me?”
De Blasio smiled slightly. “No comment on that, Shayne.”
7
Shayne was followed back to Miami by Siracusa and two button men in a black Chrysler sedan. Siracusa had wanted to ride with Shayne, so he could watch him. That was the first argument Shayne had won, on the grounds that arriving at the News Building with a known amico would tie De Blasio into the action.
As soon as Shayne was out on the causeway, he opened the car phone and signaled his mobile operator. He had recently put in a floating microphone so he could make calls and still have the use of both hands.
“Mike, it’s you,” she said. “You’ve got quite a few backed-up calls.”
“Put this one in for me first,” he told her. “Dial the News and ask for Rourke. I don’t want to talk to him, just find out if he’s there.”
She kept the connection open. He heard the News switchboard girl say good morning. Rourke picked up his extension a moment later, and Shayne’s operator clicked off and broke back to Shayne.
“He’s in, Mike. Do you want your calls now?”
“In order of importance.”
“Now, how would I know which are important? Everybody’s anxious to reach you. Somebody named Larry Zito has been pretty persistent. I think he was trying to sound like a movie heavy. A couple of females left numbers; are you interested?”
“Not right now.”
“A detective agency called from New Orleans—” Shayne said quickly, “Save that one. Who else?”
“Tim Rourke twice. Chief Gentry. A collection agency. Another collection agency. The renting agent of your building, and he wants me to tell you he’s giving you forty-eight hours before he starts proceedings. That was — let me see — approximately forty-seven hours ago. And finally, Mike, the phone company. You know our policy. When a customer not only fails to pay his bill, but fails to get in touch with the business office to plead for an extension, service is suspended. And I personally wouldn’t like that, because I take a vicarious interest in your operation.”
“What kind of interest?”
“Vicarious. That means I sit here and enjoy myself without being shot at.”
“Baby, if it isn’t obvious from that list of calls, I’m having money trouble. Send them twenty bucks to keep them quiet for a few days.”
There was an instant’s silence. “That would be highly irregular, Mike, and against my personal code and I’ll have to think it over.”
“I need the phone. I’m working.”
“Please?”
“Please.”
“All right, maybe I will,” she said reluctantly. “But it’s a first.”
Reaching the mainland, he turned onto Biscayne Boulevard and left his Buick in an outside parking lot a short walk from the Daily News Building. His companions decided to stay in their car, but only a moment after they pulled into a no-standing zone, a patrolman on traffic duty herded them on, something that never happened when things were running smoothly.
Shayne put a cigarette in his mouth, entered the News Building, and went up to the city room. Rourke had been offered his own office, but he preferred to work in the open city room where he always had, under pressure and surrounded by the clatter of other typewriters and the ringing of phones. Sucking at a pencil stub in lieu of his usual cigarette, he was leafing through a manila folder. The file drawer of his desk was open.
He looked up, and his face broke into a wide welcoming grin.
“The man himself, back on his home turf. How did the night end, win or lose?”
“I lost. That’s neither here nor there. I want to talk to you.”
Rourke’s expression sharpened. “I knew that whole farce was for somebody’s benefit. Two chicks at a time, for Christ’s sake. But I couldn’t figure out why. Can it wait till I finish this piece? They’re pushing me for copy.”
“I only need a minute.”
Rourke stood up. “Then let’s go down to Jack’s and hoist one.”
“The cafeteria’s good enough. I don’t want to take you away from the fight against crime.”
“This isn’t going to be more about the foxes and rabbits, I hope?”
“What foxes and rabbits?”
“A theory some drunk was pushing at me last night. Too many rabbits, the foxes starve, or was it the other way around?”
In the cafeteria, they drew coffee from the big twenty-four-hour urn.
“As a matter of fact,” Rourke said casually, sitting down, “there are a couple of points in the story I’m writing I’d like to check with you. The man’s in no position to sue, but still—”
“You mean this isn’t your usual rehash? What’s up?”
“Mike, I wish I knew. Something peculiar, and my Geiger counter is clicking away like crazy. I’ve had hopes you could enlighten me. If I didn’t know it wasn’t allowed, I’d think somebody from out of town is trying to move in.”
“On the De Blasios?”
“They’ve had it easy the last few years. But nobody wants to tell me about it. My usual people aren’t calling me back, and that leads me to think they don’t want to go on record, even off the record. Damn it, if you don’t want to smoke that cigarette, will you throw it away?”
“I’m just doing it to torture you. What do the cops say?”
“Nothing there, either, Mike. The pressure’s still on. The organization shylocks and bookies haven’t turned an illegal dollar for three weeks now, and it must be beginning to hurt. But I’m told there’s action starting up in some of the hotels, and it must be new people.”
“Joe Jerk from St. Louis can’t walk in and start making book. It has to be cleared.”
“I know, I know. All I’m saying, nobody’s willing to tell me anything, in spite of the fact that I’m the one man in Miami journalism who has never blown a source.”
Shayne said slowly, “Somebody’s taking bets on the Beach, and the De Blasio bookies are still being pushed?”
“Hard. One of them got bagged for defective headlights, and he stayed in the precinct twenty-four hours while the lawyers screamed.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you, Tim. I haven’t been doing much Mafia-watching lately. That brings us around to what I wanted to say. While we were talking last night, I think I brought up one of the facts of life. A lot of the big stories in your career have come from me, including the one that got you the Pulitzer. Maybe it’s time for you to do something for me in return.”
“That’s putting it bluntly,” Rourke said, “but hell, it’s true. Unless you want to figure the publicity got you more business — foxes and rabbits again. What do you want me to do?”